


Haircut

by kittymsmith



Series: Random Snippets that are Hopefully Funny of Two Dorks In Love: Sherlock and Molly [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Slice of Life, good feels, rather suggestive actually, sherlock has long hair, warm and calm feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 06:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16949127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymsmith/pseuds/kittymsmith
Summary: Sherlock walked into Molly’s house with a Tesco bag in each hand, utterly soaked. His hair was so weighed down by water it was hanging past his ears and dripping. It wasn’t until he closed her door and shook his head, sending a spray all over her door, walls, and various pictures, that Molly realized how long it had gotten.----In which Sherlock needs a haircut and Molly doesn't help with that at all.





	Haircut

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt - "Sherlock needs a haircut" - turned out a lot different than I thought it would, but I had fun with it and thought it turned out pretty cute! If anyone has any prompt ideas for this series I'd absolutely love to hear them in the comments! Also, thank you for reading, and thank you to those that are actually keeping up with the series, warms my heart to know people enjoy it enough to do so!
> 
> PS - still working on a longer Christmas fic. Despite the series description, which I'll edit, It'll be a longer work, about 10 chapters planned so far. :)

Sherlock walked into Molly’s house with a Tesco bag in each hand, utterly soaked. His hair was so weighed down by water it was hanging past his ears and dripping. It wasn’t until he closed her door and shook his head, sending a spray all over her door, walls, and various pictures, that Molly realized how long it had gotten. It was forming thick corkscrews that sat upon his head in a pile, swishing and bouncing when he moved. He’d grown it out for a long-term case, of which they’d just finished up earlier that day. She’d never seen it that long, she’d never thought she would, either; Sherlock had always been rather particular about his hair, in the same way he was particular about his clothes. It was neat, styled, and cool; never messy, unless he didn’t plan on leaving the house or a case called for it. He always went to the same barbershop every three months and got the same trim. He actually hadn’t needed to keep his hair long for about a month now, but he’d not gone and got it done. It was peculiar.

He set the bags on the cabinet by the door and shed his coat, Jack the border terrier coming to have a sniff of his shoes and get a pet, as was his right. Toby, Molly’s ever-present cat, watched from his shelf on the other side of the room. “Are you just going to stare, or are you going to help me?”

Molly had to have been looking Sherlock in the eyes a good ten seconds before she registered he was talking to her and hurried over, taking one of the bags to the kitchen island. “Sorry.”

“What was that about?” He raised an eyebrow, mostly obscured by the curls that feathered over his forehead.

“Nothing.” She started putting things away, milk and vegetables and frozen personal pizzas. Well, they weren’t _supposed_ to be personal pizzas, but for her and Sherlock they were.

“Incorrect.” He slid a box of beef stock towards her, what she’d originally needed. She was making a stew, a match to the chilly, grimy rainy London day, and a bit of a celebration to the end of a beautifully difficult case; there was to be hot stew, a warm house, a nip of cuddling and dark comedies. And sex. After the stew.

But only if Molly could stop going brain dead looking at Sherlock’s head. “Nothing consequential.”

“Less rigid incorrect.” He said, wandering away from the island and to the couch, where he’d laid pajamas over the arm before leaving. Molly paused in her stew making to watch him undress, something she never missed an opportunity to do, then continued once he had his trousers on.

“Can I ever get away with anything?”

“Of course.” He turned to her, smirking a little. “But the key to getting away is to not get caught.”

“You say as you frequently get caught and still get away.” She lowered the heat, put on the lid and then put it on a timer.

“Only if I want to get caught.”

“Mm.” She turned and looked at him. “It’s your hair.”

He raised both eyebrows.

“It’s not bad.”

The eyebrows went down.

“I just…never thought I’d see you with your hair long.”

“You mean you’re surprised I didn’t cut it a month ago.” He came to her side and leaned back. He was tall enough he could prop himself between the island and the kitchen counter and still be taller than Molly.

“Yes.” Sometimes it was nice having someone who could tell you half your thoughts before you spoke them or even thought them, but other times it was a little disturbing. This time it was only a little annoying, as Molly had hoped she’d have the upper hand in the conversation for the fun of it. She supposed she shouldn’t get her hopes up on such things.

“Was your intent to figure it out quietly, or ask?”

She shrugged. “Subtle observation followed by questionnaire.”

“Mm. Good strategy, if executed correctly.” He shifted so he leaned on his elbow, looking at her. He looked so relaxed, almost languid. It always amazed her to see after a particularly good case. Sherlock Holmes with a mind satiated, however briefly, was kin to a puppy after a full day of play; tired, happy, and only in want of comfort. For a puppy this would be pets and treats, for Sherlock it was…well, some heavy petting and treats, which came in a variety of forms that may or may not follow the petting. _Wait, what was I thinking of? Oh, yes, the hair._ Sherlock continued, “but I think we’re better suited to bluntness.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, I tend not to make an ass of myself so much if you just tell me.”

She inclined her head, simpering. “Tend to.”

“Ha.” He took her hand in his and played with it. “In all seriousness, though?”

Molly took this opportunity to do what she’d wanted to since he walked in; put her hands in his damp curls and ruffle them so they went absolutely wild. She may not have had the upper hand in the conversation, but by the look on Sherlock’s face, he certainly hadn’t expected that. “I don’t know.” She began smoothing down the coils, digging her fingers in and pulling them gently out of his face so she could kiss his forehead. “It’s quite uncharacteristic. Then again, you are a bit unpredictable. I want to know why you haven’t cut it.”

His head leaned into her hands as she began massaging his scalp. _You really are like a cat._ “You’d never said anything,” he responded, letting his head flop onto her chest. She paused her massaging, but then he whined, so she kept it on.

“Really?”

“Yes. Barber was on holiday and John started knocking me for keeping it. But you never said anything. I suppose, really, it was an experiment.” She felt a little breathy laugh come from his lips. “To see whether or not you did.”

“Why?” She stepped closer, letting him readjust so he was resting his head on her shoulder. She shivered slightly when he kissed the nape of her neck.

He hummed against her skin. “I’ve never liked my hair too long. I look like a hippie. Or a member of a short-lived boyband.” She snorted. “No one likes it, either. But I…wanted to see if _you_ cared.”

“Ah.” Her fingers were half tangled in the mass of dark curls. She freed her fingers and watched all the curls bounce back in place, tickling her neck. The stew bubbled quietly as she gently lifted his head until he faced her and kissed him, tasting fruit gum he must have stolen from her purse.  _Cheeky_. “Well, I never thought you looked like a hippie. Or a member of a boy band.”

He looked relieved. “What do I look like, then?”

She smiled. “Sherlock Holmes, my shaggy puppy.” She kissed his nose as he laughed.

“Shaggy puppy? I really should get a cut then.”

“Not unless you want to.”

“Hmm.” She walked away from him briefly, checking the stew and then taking down a set of bowls and spoons. She felt his hands slip onto her hips, then slowly round to her stomach as he pressed up against her, chin resting on her shoulder, hair tickling her ear. A finger gently glided over her skin to the hem of her sweatpants, playing with the elastic band. “Do _you_ want me to?”

Molly breathed in slowly to stop her thudding heart, chest tight. “No…I think it’s handsome. Besides,” she slipped her hand up and gave his hair a little tug, “ _gives me something to grab onto.”_

A few moments after that Sherlock and Molly engaged in a little experiment. Turned out, stew was as good after sex as before.


End file.
